


Consequences

by grav_ity



Series: grav_ity plays dragon age origins [6]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-20 13:47:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17623526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/grav_ity/pseuds/grav_ity
Summary: A very tangled knot in Redcliffe Castle, the night before the march to Denerim. No easy answers, no clear way forward, and probably too much love for anyone to deal with without more Antivan brandy than Zevran has left. (Spoilers: That Night In Redcliffe, Achievement Unlocked: First Knight)





	Consequences

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't give any warnings in this one, but I did rate it M even though nothing really happens, because...well, a lot is implied, and this whole situation is a MESS of dubious consent.
> 
> In my playthrough, I let Morrigan manipulate me into manipulating Alistair (god, her lines are AMAZING), because I wanted him to live. I decided that he chose Fereldon, and since I was his subject, Fereldon was going to have him.

The first thing Alistair saw when he opened the door to his chamber was a figure sitting cross-legged in front of the fire, and for a moment, his heart clenched in his chest. Guilt and relief warred within him in spite of his best efforts; at what he had done and that she might have already forgiven him. Then his eyes adjusted to the light, and he saw that it wasn’t Kentha after all. A surge of self-pity swept through him, and he pushed that aside too. He really had no right to that anymore, either.

Zevran rose in one fluid motion, and bowed from the waist.

“Don’t start,” Alistair said.

At Zevran’s feet was a bucket of water and a cloth. There was a towel warming on the rack by the hearth. Alistair mostly wanted to throw himself into the flames.

“As you wish,” Zevran said, and sat down as gracefully as he’d stood. “Come and sit, my king. It is too cold to linger in doorways, especially your own.”

Alistair sat. The rug didn’t quite stop the cold from the stone floor seeping up through his light trousers, but he endured it. It seemed to be the night for that sort of thing.

“Have you seen Kentha?” he asked. The words nearly stuck in his throat.

“I have,” Zevran said. He passed Alistair what was left of the Antivan brandy. “She is being taken care of.”

Alistair took a drink and grimaced. “This might have been more useful beforehand.”

“I was under the impression that some haste had been in order,” Zevran said. “Too much to pause and track me down to check if I had any left.”

Alistair took another drink, and passed the bottle back.

“Why are you here?” he asked.

“Someone had to see you to bed,” Zevran said. “Would you rather it was Wynne?”

“Maker, no,” Alistair said. “I can take care of myself.”

“Of course you can,” Zevran said. “That is why you are sitting on the cold stone floor with an elf instead of sleeping in the room of this castle that was specifically built for the King’s use.”

Eamon hadn’t even suggested it, thank goodness. Alistair would have rather returned to the kennels then face the room where he was, in all likelihood, conceived.

“Amongst the crows, we are trained to separate our body’s actions from our soul’s worth,” Zevran said, somewhat philosophically. “We are only the tool, not the motive, and thus our consciences can be clear.”

“And your conscience is so clear that your swore an oath to Kentha?” Alistair asked.

“I did spend the first few years of my life in a brothel,” Zevran said dryly. “They have a slightly different idea of what bodies are for in houses like that.”

“Do you hate it?” Alistair asked after a long, long pause.

“Not always,” Zevran said. His tone was gentle, all traces of his usual mockery disappeared.

“I wish I hated it,” Alistair said softly. “I tried, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t control…”

“The Chantry would say that is your fault,” Zevran said. Alistair flinched. “But I don’t think it is. Your Maker made you fallible. He must expect the occasional thing to slide out of your grip. If he wanted you to be perfect, you would be.”

Alistair wanted to tell him that it wasn’t that simple, but at the same time, he desperately wanted it to be true.

“I don’t even know where I would start to fix this,” Alistair said.

“You cannot,” Zevran said. “We will do what we can, and you must make sure not to hurt yourself where she can see it, because she will blame herself for that too.”

Only, he had hurt her so deeply after the Landsmeet, and then he had taken the very first change to betray her again. Yes, she’d essentially had to beg him to do it, but it still felt like he had spit in her face, had kicked her when she was already down.

“How did this get to be such a mess?” he asked, not really expecting an answer.

“She will not allow your death, and Morrigan will not allow hers,” Zevran said, a simple distillation that still weighed heavily on Alistair’s chest. “And Morrigan had the solution.”

“If it had been you?” Alistair asked, not entirely sure what he was asking, yet more than half sure of the answer anyway.

“For her life?” Zevran said. “It would already be done, my king.”

“You’re Antivan,” Alistair said.

“And you’re my king,” Zevran said. “Because you are hers.”

“Am I?”

“I was to be a whore and then I was to be a crow,” Zevran said. “Now I am to be whatever I wish, because that is what she made of me. And she made you king.”

“I love her,” Alistair croaked, tears on his cheeks without shame.

“She knows you do, sweet boy,” Zevran said, and pulled him close.

Alistair sobbed, great ugly noises made by one not used to doing it in front of a witness, until he had nothing left. Zevran hauled him to his feet.

“Wash, my friend,” Zevran said in a knowing voice. “Burn the clothes if it makes you feel better, and then sleep.”

He put the brandy on the table beside Alistair’s bed. Alistair was already starting to strip. His movements were mechanical, but at least he was moving. Zevran left him there, quietly returning to the corridor.

The hound was lying across the threshold of Leliana’s room, with Zevran took as a sign that his mistress was within.

“Go and find Sten, noble one,” Zevran said. “We will take care of her tonight, and you will watch over her tomorrow.”

The hound wuffed quietly, an acknowledgement as good as if he’d been a person, and padded off down the hall. Zevran turned the door handle as quietly as he could, and slipped into the room.

Leliana sat on the bed with Kentha in her arms. Even in the firelight, Zevran could see the tear tracks on her cheeks. She must have fallen asleep, and Leliana didn’t want to move her. Zevran could not blame her. Waking would do none of them any favours right now.

He shed his leather jerkin, boots, and gloves, and went over to the bed. He lifted Kentha as gently as he could, and Leliana arranged the blankets and pillows. Zevran set Kentha in the middle of the mattress, and then climbed in as well. Leliana went to add another log to the fire, and then joined them on the other side. She looked at him across the Warden’s sleeping form, and he shrugged. 

They had, to a one, done everything they could.

**Author's Note:**

> OKAY, so we're heading into the end here and I have allllllmost decided what that's going to look like. Hopefully I can finish up with Awakenings, and then get to it.


End file.
